


Halamshiral

by cl2y



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gaswall, M/M, Minor Violence, My Orlesian is horrible I'm sorry, Wicked Eyes and Wicked Farts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-07 09:51:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6799060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cl2y/pseuds/cl2y
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Halamshiral. The Inquisitor had told him they were going to the Winter Palace in Halamshiral to save the Empress and negotiate with her and her cousin. Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons. The man Blackwall had been fucking in another life, whence the name Blackwall had never passed his lips. Perhaps Gaspard wouldn’t notice him, odds are the Orlesians won’t be too interested in a Grey Warden</p>
            </blockquote>





	Halamshiral

Halamshiral. The Inquisitor had told him they were going to the Winter Palace in Halamshiral to save the Empress and negotiate with her and her cousin. Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons. The man Blackwall had been fucking in another life, whence the name Blackwall had never passed his lips. Perhaps Gaspard wouldn’t notice him, odds are the Orlesians won’t be too interested in a Grey Warden.

But that was not the case. The Grand Duke had invited them, flirted with the Inquisitor and walked them into the Grand Ballroom. Blackwall felt his hair prickle as they were announced, Gaspard was first, The Inquisitor, and her advisers. Then in order of social standing, Vivienne, Cassandra, Sera with her vulgar alias, Dorian, Varric, The Iron Bull, and then himself. _Silverlite Wings of Valor, who knew?_ Blackwall’s mind raced, what did the Wardens consider worthy of a badge of valor? Was it hard to achieve? He walked down the steps, back straight with his arms folded behind his back, a soldier’s walk and not an Orlesian one. Solas followed him down the steps, seemingly perturbed that he had been last. The group bowed before Empress Celene, introducing Gaspard’s sister and making small talk with the Inquisitor. But Gaspard had turned away to look at the group of men and women all in red and blue. Lined like little toy soldiers. Blackwall did his best not to waver under his gaze, he couldn’t even tell if the man was looking at him through his golden mask.

Gaspard left then, exiting through double doors to stand on an outward facing balcony, Leliana had rushed the Inquisitor away and Josephine had told them all to mingle. _I’ve done enough mingling by parading down in front of the entire Orlesian court._ He scoffed internally. Still he scurried past the guests, swallowed a glass of fancy, and no doubt expensive Orlesian wine, and squirrelled his way into an empty space surrounded by statues. He was positioned at the servants entrance, so he could see who entered, and so that nobody with status would interrupt him.

Blackwall had heard the clicking of heels pass by him several times, his Orlesian working it’s way to the front of his mind to decipher what they said.

_…here in the Winter Palace, lets hope there are no injuries with that blood magister…_

_…attending in uniform, Maker the dresses she could wear. Such a shame…_

_…at least she brought her own servant, his name, solstice? Where are all Celene’s elves…_

_…honestly if I had- oh pardon me Your Royal Highness. If I had…_

_Gaspard_. Blackwall choked on his own tongue and stepped back against the wall. Cursing his boots for being shined, and his heels sharpened as they clacked against the floor. He heard the Grand Duke hum as he leaned over the small railing to see the man who was so sorely trying to hide from him.

“Monsieur Blackwall. A pleasure.” He said, voice strangely welcoming for the man dubbed a hateful usurper.

“The pleasure is mine, Your Royal Highness.”

“What brings a Grey Warden to the Winter Palace? I was told that your purpose is not political, and yet here you are. Deciding whether the rightful Emperor will get his throne.”

“I am a guest of Her Worship, Ser, if aiding Orlais will help defeat Corypheus then my purpose is not political.” Blackwall nodded, _thank the Maker he doesn’t know._ His heartbeat slowed and stopped hammering through his ribs.

“Ah, of course. Though slaughtering the Callier house _was_ political wasn’t it?” _Balls._

“I’m not sure who you mean Ser, you must have me mistaken.”

“I cannot tell if you are a Warden or not ex-Captain Thom Rainier, but I do know that you are not a Blackwall. Come.” Gaspard turned to leave then, heeled boots smacking across the floor as he went. They crossed the Vestibule, Thom following some minutes later to provide some discretion, and went up several stairs until they came upon an abandoned wing, the beds all made but still covered in a light layer of dust. It was, incredibly Orlesian. From the Golden bed frame adorned with curling lions, to the blue heraldic wallpaper, and full length stained glass windows. Gaspard closed the door behind him silently, locking it and pocketing the key, _Bloody fantastic._ The Grand Duke pressed a cigarette to his lips, flicking a match and setting both alight. Gaspard smoked, still. Thom could remember nights when all he could smell and taste was that thick ashy residue that clung to the man wherever he went, nights where his thighs and arse ached from impassioned fingers and a thicker cock. Gaspard rolled his wrist at Thom, cigarette dangling uselessly, to indicate he should speak first.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I am still your superior Rainier.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Ser.” He added the ser through gritted teeth.

“Perhaps.. Tell me the reason you deserted my army to join the Wardens.”

“I committed a crime.”

“Yes, I know that, several reports came through of you desertion, and of the men who followed you in your cowardice.”

“The crime was done under your order, Ser.”

“Pardon?”

“You ordered the murder of Lord Callier, you wanted me to do your dirty work and play the game for you.” Thom spat. Gaspard encroached upon him then, a lung full of smoke billowing from underneath his mask. He dropped his cigarette, squashing it under his boot and blowing what little remains of the smoke from his mouth and into Thom’s face. He did not waver, even as the scent brought memories to his loins. “He was travelling with his wife and children, you made me and my men hammer on those carriage doors with hatchets and war axes. You made us slaughter a babe in it’s mother’s arms. You, Ser, you made me-” Gaspard gripped at Thom’s overcoat, slamming the man into the golden vanity, squashing him against the nobbled handles and decorative edges.

“I did no such thing.” He seethed, his face tinted red under his mask. Thom scowled at the Grand Duke, smacking his mask from his face and mirroring the man’s position. Pockmarks still marred the man’s face even into his late sixties, his skin was pale, more grey than pink if he weren’t so flustered. Age had carved lines beneath his eyes and around his mouth, but his eyes. Oh there was a scorching wildfire behind those boltmetal blue eyes. Thom glanced at the man’s lips, it had been a decade or more since they had last met, and Thom’s cock seemingly couldn’t resist. Gaspard shoved away from him, picking his mask from the floor and tittering at the small scratch it had gained.

Thom stayed against the vanity, he could not leave even if he wished to. Gaspard had the key. Perhaps someone would notice he was gone, maybe even Dorian who had taken the time to mess with Blackwall’s uniform after it had creased in the carriage.

“You can’t keep me here Gaspard.” Thom said, arms folding over his chest, “We can just forget this, and carry on with the night.”

“Forget that there is a deserter amidst the guests of the Winter Palace? Non.”

“And if you tell everyone? I’ll tell them what we have done, you’d expose yourself. Nobody would ally with you then Gaspard, your throne will wither into dust.” Thom pushed away from his position arm held out and fingers waggling for the key. The Grand Duke grabbed at Thom’s wrist and shoved him over the end of the bed, he stumbled and fell over the footboard, his knees ending either side of the decorative lion head. Gaspard was quick to dart around the bed and tug Thom’s body so that he may pin him.

“You are no Warden.” He spat, mask forgotten on one of the chests which littered the room. “Your crimes wouldn’t scare you so much if you were.” Thom was blindsided. Grand Duke Gaspard was well known for his hatred of The Game, yet he was not such an outcast he couldn’t navigate it well. Thom should never have come, made up some bullshit about this being too political, he should have stayed away. He hated the game just as much as Gaspard did for this very reason. Too many words and not enough fists.

Thom’s hand flew up then to crack Gaspard in the jaw, the man grunted as he took the blow, Thom managing to flip the pair and drag his hands down The Grand Duke’s body in attempt to find a key shaped lump. Gaspard’s foot hit Thom between the ribs, sending him crashing backwards and pulling down a vase and table on his way. The Grand Duke scrambling off the bed and standing a few feet from the other man, arms poised and ready.

“Get up.” He growled.

“Pissing Chevalier honour.” Thom spat, raising to his feet and throwing a second, third and fourth punch before Gaspard used his momentum against him to crack his skull against his own, slamming his fist under Thom’s ribs and rendering the man empty of air for a moment. Gaspard pulled a few paces back, Thom gathering his breath before throwing his fist loosely to distract Gaspard, his foot came down heavy on his calf, The Grand Duke grunting at the weight he had thrown at him. Thom grabbed him by the hips and slammed them both into a heavy wall, Gaspard’s skull protesting loudly as it was thrown back awkwardly and snapped against the brickwork. The man was dazed for a moment as Thom piled fist after fist into the man’s gut, yelping as Gaspard tugged a handful of his hair back and bit at his neck.

Thom staggered back, hand pressed to the bleeding wound as the Grand Duke righted himself, arms raised once more. Gaspard swung first, his left fist missing Thom but letting his right slam into his kidneys. The ex Captain powered through the assault, forcing his fist between them against Gaspard’s ribs once more. The Grand Duke leant on Thom then, both men gasping for breath. Gaspard pulled back first, inches from Thom’s face, mouth open and sucking in air greedily. Thom thought he would crash their heads together not their lips. He had blood in his mouth, but his lips were soft and plump to the touch, and he moaned as Gaspard’s fists turned into wandering hands curling against his uniform. Thom let his own hands venture against the Grand Duke’s shorn scalp, cursing as the man pulled away and let his teeth scrape against his bottom lip as he did so.

Gaspard’s right hook was hot against Thom’s cheek, spinning him until he could gain his footing with his hands braced against the footboard of the bed. Gaspard was behind him then, fingers slipping up under his overcoat and tugging his tunic from his breeches. Thom span back to face the man, his knee connecting heavily between Gaspard’s own and rendering the man useless as he leaned against Thom.

“Bastard.” He spat.

“Sorry.” Thom gasped, still aching for air in his lungs. Gaspard shoved him lazily back onto the bed, awkwardly climbing over as Thom situated himself amongst the pillows. His legs bent as Gaspard crawled between them, one hand still pressed to his injured manhood. The ex Captain pulled Gaspard’s face to his own, kissing him once more and letting the man hover over him, one hand curled in the headboard. He grasped at the man’s overcoat, pushing it down over his shoulders and letting the heavy spaulders fall with the expensive material. Thom wound his fingers in the Grand Duke’s necklace, pulling him closer and letting his mouth fall open once more, and pressing his tongue against Gaspard’s own. The Grand Duke pulled at Thom’s sash and overcoat, tossing them aside and pulling the silk tunic from him, kissing a hot trail down the man’s furred chest.

Thom grumbled and spread his legs further to accommodate the girth of Gaspard’s shoulders as he sucked at his gut. Peppering the flesh with burning red teeth marks. He kissed open mouthed against Thom’s hardened cock through his breeches, wetting the fabric with his moans.

“Gaspard..” Thom whimpered. “S'il te plaît, Gaspard.” The Grand Duke growled and ripped Thom’s breeches open, forcing them and his underthings down to mid-thigh and engulfing his cock, thick and already weeping in his hand. Thom stuttered out a moan and ran his hands along Gaspard’s scalp, a pity he had shorn it so close for there was nothing for him to grab. He raked his nails along the stubbled flesh, his legs twitching as Gaspard groaned around his cock. The ex Captain watched his manhood disappear deep into Gaspard’s throat, watching as the man’s lips met the base of his cock, swallowing and moaning against the intrusion. Thom threw his head back, cracking it accidentally against the wall as Gaspard pulled away, his chin wet with spit and excess pre-come.

Orlesian rolled off his tongue as Thom flipped them both, he slipped off of the Grand Duke, and squeezed from his uniform. Returning to straddle the man’s thighs completely bare.

“Magnifique, alors trés incroyable.” He whispered, his wide palms railing over Thom’s skin, even at the plumper waist he had gained in his years. Thom kissed him slower now, more lips than teeth, as he unbuckled Gaspard’s breeches, sighing as he felt the thicker weight of Gaspard’s cock in hand. He stroked it slowly, spreading the wetness over the head and pulling the heavy foreskin away. Gaspard grumbled in appreciation as Thom lined their cocks together, rolling his hips slowly and allowing his hands to wander Gaspard’s own body. His skin was still marred, and held hair, though that was greyed and hid his pink scars better. His gut had fallen soft, but Thom could still feel the way his muscles moved under the heavier skin. “Thom.” He whispered, hands threading through too long hair and tugging him closer so their chests pressed together as they rutted, The Grand duke’s necklace a prisoner between them..

Whatever had changed the mood between them settled heavy in their stomachs. Gaspard had rolled them over once more, holding Thom’s thighs open as they kissed and thrust against each other lazily.

“Thom.” Gaspard repeated, his hips thrusting faster as his orgasm approached. Thom hooked his ankles around the Grand Duke’s lower back, thighs tightening as his loins curled. “Thom.” He whispered, letting the name fall off his lips in a mantra until his hips shuddered and he came with a groan inside the crook of his neck. His hand wrapped around Thom’s own cock, tugging him to completion as he came down from his high. Thom let out a garbled _Gaspard_ as he did so, whimpering as the man continued to play with his over sensitive cock. Thom swatted him away and let the man lie next to him. His stomach had begun to purple under the white streaks, and he flinched as he lay his head back against the pillow. Thom suddenly remembered where they were, and why they were here.

“We should… They will be missing you at the ball.” He whispered, fingers tracing up Gaspard’s bicep.

“Yes. I.. give me a moment.” Thom inched closer to Gaspard and nudged his head onto his chest. He could hear the faster thrum of his heart beating, it made him feel younger. When he was Captain Thom Rainier, and proud to be so. Both men lay there for a while, Thom drawing patterns in Gaspard’s thinning chest hair, and Gaspard brushing his fingers through Thom’s greying locks. The first bell sounding jolted them for their almost slumber. Both sitting up harshly and wincing at their ribs protesting. They both redressed quietly, using the vanity mirror to ensure they still looked acceptable. Thom’s face had the beginnings of a blackened bruise, his neck wound mostly hidden by the high collar of his uniform. Gaspard looked fine, though his back was slightly bent as his ribs cursed him.

“What did you mean earlier? That you never gave the order on Lord Callier?” Thom whispered handing Gaspard his mask back so he could complete his outfit. The man turned it in his hands before he spoke.

“Robert he… Lord Chapuis thought it odd I spent so much time with a Free Marcher, he wanted rid of you and struck at Celene in the process. I do not play The Game, Thom, it is hard to know whether the dagger that you spin will cut your fingers as you do so.”

“Awfully poetic.”

“I give you this Thom, one of your Soldiers was caught a few days ago. Mornay, he is to be hanged by the neck until dead, perhaps your Inquisitor could help him.” Gaspard pressed the key into Thom’s hand, pulling it to his lips and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. The Grand Duke donned his mask once more, “I shall see you in the ballroom, Warden Blackwall.”

**Author's Note:**

> I literally have no idea what I'm doing here,,,,,, like idk how to tag or anything,,,,,,,,,,,,,, if I'm making any obvious mistakes hit me up son,,,,,,, ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


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